


If Looks Were Set to Kill, Darling, Than I'd Be Yours

by doctornemesis



Category: One Piece
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Character Death In Dream, Declarations Of Love, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, First Kiss, First Time, Getting Together, Hurt/Comfort, Idiots in Love, Insomnia, Kissing, Longing, Love Confessions, M/M, Narcolepsy, Porn With Plot, Prophetic Dreams, Sex, coming together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-20
Updated: 2018-07-20
Packaged: 2019-06-13 12:24:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15364668
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doctornemesis/pseuds/doctornemesis
Summary: Thatch and Ace find themselves in the midst of trying to save not only their crew, but an entire Island as well when they encounter a Devil Fruit user with an ability unlike anything they had ever witnessed before. If they survived all of this, the first thing Thatch planned to do is to kiss the one person he's been thinking about nonstop. After that, a much needed nap was in order.---





	If Looks Were Set to Kill, Darling, Than I'd Be Yours

“Your old men shall dream dreams, your young men shall see visions.”

—Joel 2:28   

  
  
  
  


  The concern Thatch felt perturbed him as he sat upon the railing of the great Moby Dick, the sun to his back, and a slight breeze tossing his pompadour around a bit, but otherwise unable to do much harm to it. The concern he felt, well,  _ concerned  _ one of his brothers. Or, at least, what he should have considered to be one of his brothers. 

 

  Thatch slapped a hand to the side of his face, shielding his eyes, or at least trying to, from memories...memories of silk robes, red lips, and too soft, too pale skin. The man knew he was bound to get caught one of these days, he just knew it, but he couldn’t stop. His eyes latched on as soon as he witnessed Izo’s presence whenever and wherever that happened to be, and behind his lids as he closed his eyes for the night. 

 

  None of this was fair, he thought as he chewed on the edge of one of his thumbnails as he set off to get back to work, breaktime over and essentially wasted. 

 

  The pure rapture he felt upon seeing the other man sent his body thrumming and his heart pounding all the way up into his eardrums. It didn’t help how refined the other man always looked; whether he partook in a rather nasty battle, gun cocked and aimed to kill just as his eyeliner, or when he drank in excess during a rather rowdy celebration, lipstick never out of place let alone ruined. The only thing tarnished happened to be Thatch’s thoughts—so unwholesome, the whole goddamned thing! 

 

  What the hell was going on here?!

 

  The only salvation he found remained in his zest for cooking, and never had he been so thankful to cook for so many, but things were never truly that simple now, were they? Izo sat within view, and everytime Thatch’s gaze settled upon the man, dark—almost menacing—eyes ran him through like the sharpest of blades. The heat that flooded through Thatch and bloodied his cheeks had never hit him so hard or so fast in his entire life, not even on the most dreadful of summer islands; not even when he had gotten too close to an upset, pissed off Ace. 

 

  Never, never, never. 

 

  “You’re staring,” Izo said, chin propped up by one hand as the other fiddled with the red and white striped straw that delved into an icy, even darker red drink made especially just for him. It matched his kimono of the day.  

 

  “Just trying to make sure you’re enjoying your drink,” he said, and why did Izo have to be so direct? Did he know nothing of pity? Or mercy, for that matter? 

 

  “You’ve  _ been  _ staring.” Apparently not. “And it’s beginning to drive me crazy.” 

 

  “Oh, it’s driving  _ you  _ crazy, huh?” Thatch asked almost with a roll of his eyes. If anyone were being driven to madness, it was most certainly  _ him _ .

 

  Izo’s own eyes narrowed to near slits, and Thatch found it near impossible to swallow at such a harrowing sight. “Yes,” he said, long, slender fingers rapping against the counter that separated them. “I happen to find rather large, rather handsome men with stupid haircuts  _ rather  _ distracting.” 

 

  Handsome?

 

  Had he heard that correctly?

 

  “Handsome?”

 

  He was, as it turned out, an absolute idiot. 

 

  “Don’t be so self absorbed, Thatch. It’s unbecoming,” Izo said with a devious smirk as he reached over the countertop, pulling Thatch in close to him by the front of his chef’s coat, their faces near touching as their breath mingled together. “What’s going on here, huh? Do my eyes deceive me, or does someone have a crush?”

 

  “It sounds like more than just one of us has a crush here, Izo.”

 

  Oh, how he loved this. The back and forth, the absolute heat endorsing every word and look. Somewhere along the way this man had stolen his heart, and now refused to give it back. 

 

  Not that he needed it anyway. 

 

  A firm cough broke the spell the two held over each other. Izo pulled away first, shoving the larger man back by Thatch’s chest as though he had been set ablaze and broken out of a trance. When had Marco appeared in the dining hall? 

 

  “You two do know that our Commanders meeting started over fifteen minutes ago, yoi? And that you two are, in fact, Commanders....correct?”

 

  “Of course,” Izo said, pushing a stray strand of pitch black hair behind his ear as he hurried towards the closest exit. 

 

  “Sorry, Marco,” Thatch said, his words rushed and jumbled together as he hurried to join his brothers. 

 

  The entire meeting pushed and tortured his already limited attention span, and though Thatch thought of himself as a rather patient man, patience did not bode well for him this late into the afternoon. Thatch enjoyed his role as Commander; he enjoyed his position as head chef to a fleet numbering over a thousand and counting, and he loved being both a younger and older brother to all aboard this ship save Whitebeard himself, and he prided himself on being a dutiful son most of all. However, Thatch also fancied himself as a romantic sort of person; yes, even upon a pirate ship, and now he’d been swept away in the throws of passion. 

 

  And now that the person who flooded both his senses as well as his thoughts might not be entirely opposed...Well, what was a man like Thatch supposed to do? Listen out for imperative information? Absolutely not. 

 

  “Our three week stint at sea will be drawing to a close sometime tomorrow evening, yoi,” Marco said, standing with his arms crossed as he leaned with his back against the wall before them, head lolled to the side just so. It was deceptively casual of him. “You’ve all maintained your inventories for the most part...except for you, Ace, but reconvene with your men again, go over everything with them. The island we’ll be docking at is a newly acquired territory for us, yoi, so first, second and third impressions are crucial. The duration of our stay is estimated between five and six days, so consider it a vacation. We won’t meet our next destination for another four to five, maybe even six weeks after this.” 

 

  Thatch groaned. Another month to possibly two on open water with an entire fleet to feed? The first two to three days alone would be dedicated to replenishing all supplies and trying to think in advance to all possible emergency situations that might occur over such a long period of time in dangerous, unpredictable waters. Still, he thought, if everything went according to plan, that left him with about two to four days to woo his intended paramour. If only he’d listened to everything before Marco’s final point. 

 

  “Hey, um, Thatch!” Thatch turned on his heels to see Ace running up to him, one hand holding onto the brim of his hat, the other flagging him down.

 

  “What’s up, Ace?”  

 

  “Hey, um, so Marco’s a little busy right now, and I was just wondering if you’d be able to help me get a little caught up? I mean, I get some of this stuff, but I’m still a little intimidated, to be honest, and I don’t want to ask any of the other guys because, well, it’s kind of, sort of awkward, and it’s not as awkward with you because you’re a pretty cool guy, if that makes sense?” Ace asked, rushing through his words at an incredible, stumbling speed.  

 

  “Woah, Ace, buddy, slow down there. There’s no need to push yourself so hard like that. Your head might just explode.” 

 

  Ace shoved both of his hands into his front pockets, chin tilted downward as a deep seated flush crept along high, freckled cheekbones. Thatch had grown close to the kid since Ace’s arrival, and the last thing the older man wanted was to see him stressed out and put down. Thatch placed a hand upon one of Ace’s shoulders as he sought to bring the younger of the two some form of comfort. 

 

  Honestly, he could make do with a distraction himself.  

 

  “I just...don’t like it when Marco gives me that  _ look _ , you know? That look that says he has a million and one problems and doesn’t need another one...especially from some idiot kid like me. Which I’m not, by the way! I’m not a kid, and I’m just trying to prove that to him, but I keep messing everything up.” 

 

  Thatch grimaced as he fought not to laugh out loud at the boy’s plight. If only poor Ace could read people a little better, he would understand how Marco really felt about things, let alone about Ace himself. Marco had a bad habit of teasing the things he liked most, and that just happened to be Ace himself, not that he would ever admit such a thing out loud. It made Thatch want to take matters into his own hands, but he had his own love life—or lack thereof—to worry about. Who knows, maybe he could multitask if he were lucky enough. 

 

  “Look, Marco doesn’t hate you. If Marco hated you, you would know about it because you wouldn’t be aboard this ship. He’s trying to be, uh, what’s the word I’m looking for here?  _ Inclusive _ . We all give each other a hard time, and with you just being made Second Division Commander, he doesn’t want to make you feel any differently, right? I’ll go over your inventories with you, you can ask me all the questions in the world, and I’ll show you how I file my paperwork so you’re not flying blind.”   

 

  “Don’t go teaching him any of your bad habits, Thatch,” Izo said with a snort as he passed the two of them by on deck, giving the larger man a sly grin as he did so. It took everything Thatch had not to crowd the smaller of the two back against the adjoining wall and kiss him with enough force and passion to smear that perfectly lined lipstick of his. 

 

  “Don’t be that way!” Thatch yelled instead, shaking a fist after him as a low, tortured groan slid past his lips. That man would be the death of him.

 

  “You two are always bickering,” Ace said, arms crossed over his stomach as a rumbling fit of laughter shook throughout his entire frame. 

 

  “Et tu, Ace? Et tu?”

  
  


* * *

 

  
  


  Thatch found himself finishing his last rounds in the massive kitchen he oversaw somewhere around three o’clock in the morning. He felt confident, for the most part anyway, that he had covered his bases on all that he would need, and left enough room available to still explore the local cuisine and try out some new cooking techniques. For him, that would always be the thrill behind exploring and adventuring on every new Island they came across—the people, and how they expressed themselves as well as set themselves apart by the foods they made, and the ways in which they made them. 

 

  Thatch looked forward to what the new day would bring, no matter how exhausted he felt, and he was, without a doubt, exhausted. Still, he made it his burden to prep for an early morning breakfast. And while he could have placed this task on equally capable shoulders, he could never do that to any of the men who worked under him—all excellent, creative chefs in their own right who deserved to get a good night’s sleep when applicable. 

 

  “No rest for the wicked, hm?” 

 

  Thatch lurched forward over the stovetop he stood in front of, nearly setting his shirt on fire for what he had intended to be a small cup of cocoa before he tried to retire for the night, he also ended up  smacking the top of his head on the vent above. “Ow, hell!” he hollered, turning to see a quite amused Izo staring back at him with dazzling, excitedly dark eyes. 

 

  Thatch wanted to be angry with the man—wanted to, but then his vision settled and Izo came clearly into focus, and all thoughts of revenge were immediately awash. “Awe-inspiring” would be the closest thought to something intelligible breaching Thach’s mind upon seeing the other man. He wore a simple—for Izo anyway—black silk yukata with a wide silver collar and tie that shined bright against his pale skin. Izo’s slender chest laid even more exposed than usual, a trail clear all the way down almost to his navel. His thick, black hair laid over one shoulder, free and as freshly washed as his alluring face. 

 

  Sat upon the countertop rested a rather tall bottle of wine and two sturdy, accommodating glasses. Thatch grew closer to the other, as if called on by some unforeseen force, a lone brow raised at such an unexpected scene at an even more unexpected hour. Izo harked openly at his shock. 

 

  “Come. Sit,” he said, patting the turn-style seat beside him. “I grew tired of seeing when you would retire for the night...Well, now, technically morning.”

 

  “And why should I?” Thatch questioned, switching gears as he crossed his arms over his broad chest. “You’ve been nothing but cruel to me.” 

 

  “I have,” Izo said, conceding to Thatch’s words with a sweet, almost demure smile pulling at soft, light pink lips. Thatch pondered, quite distracted by this point, why the other man bothered to paint over such natural perfection, but the thought fell just short of absurdity as this was Izo, and the man did as he willed, when he willed it. “Thus the wine. I’m sure you could do well to relax and unwind. Especially after all that time you dedicated to Ace’s quarters.” 

 

  “Jealous?” Thatch asked, brows raised as he gave a boyish grin. 

 

  Izo’s face withheld all sense of amusement. “Hardly,” he said. 

 

  “No, but Ace is a good kid,” he said as he plopped down upon the seat Izo had designated for him, stovetop shut off, and cocoa forgoed for wherever this may lead. “He’s just got...he’s just got a lot of emotions, you know…”

 

  “And no idea how to express any of them? Yes, so I’d noticed. What does the poor thing feel most of all to be so on edge and reckless with his own life all of the time?” 

 

  “Honestly, fear of rejection...the kid...he’s so convinced, Izo, so convinced that he’s just...worthless, and that creates this inherent desire to constantly prove himself, which leads to placing himself in the most dangerous situations.” 

 

  “Such a vicious cycle...Marco’s going to prematurely age chasing that one.”

 

  “Don’t even get me started on the topic of Marco as Ace describes it…”

 

  “ _ Oh _ ?” Izo inquired with a quirk of his brow. 

 

  Thatch shrugged, he wouldn’t cross that boundary and betray Ace’s trust and confidence, not even for Izo. “It’s going to be up to them to figure out,” he said, studying the long stem of the wine glass in his hand. 

 

  “Yes, you’re entirely right. So drink,” Izo said, insisting as he took what Thatch wouldn’t quite call a sip, but not yet quite a gulp. 

 

  Thatch gave a hearty chuckle as he followed suit, taking a slight draw from his own glass. Certainly, Izo referenced their own predicament at current. The two should be in their respective quarters, but instead they were cradled by calm waves, sitting on a quiet ship late at night just the two of them drinking, talking... _ existing _ together. Thatch couldn’t quite put into words how he felt in that moment, but content did come to mind. Izo, as wild as the other man could be, always felt to be his calm—the center of the eye to an otherwise chaotic life at sea. 

 

  “Izo, what are we doing here?” he asked, desperate to know himself. 

 

  “Isn’t it obvious? Drinking wine mere hours before we’re due up.”

 

  Thatch wanted to punch the other man, and his expression must have been as sour as a lime because Izo let out one of his more unflattering laughs, a laugh that let Thatch know that Izo found him and his plight rather hilarious. “Izo, I’m serious!” he said, near bellowing as he pushed the other man by the shoulder, surprised when Izo caught ahold of his hand and pressed a kiss to the center of Thach’s palm.

 

  “Sorry, but I don’t honestly know, and thus the wine,” he said, lowering Thatch’s hand from his mouth, but never let the limb go. 

 

  There went his heart again, and the familiar warmth of heat that flooded his cheeks. “I, uh, like you. A lot,” he said, after a moment or two of attempting to remember how to both form and pronounce words once again. 

 

  “And I, obviously, might I add, like you enough to miss a good night's rest,” Izo said, head tilted to one side as he focused his sole attention on Thatch and Thatch alone. 

 

  “So, where do we go from here?” Thatch asked, trying not to let the fluttering of his heart drown out all other sound.  

 

  “I’m not quite sure, honestly. I would love to say we should go ahead and dive in—abandon all thoughts of anything else...but, even though we’re pirates, we do have a responsibility to this ship, and, most importantly, to Pops,” Izo said, face turned downward and away. Thatch hated the look painted across the other’s face, and would do anything to wipe it away. 

 

  He placed a hand along an elegant cheek, bringing Izo’s face close to his own. Izo placed a hand upon one of Thatch’s biceps, his grip strong, but he did nothing to halt Thatch from initiating their first kiss, his hypnotic eyes glued to Thatch’s lips. And God, it was beautiful and slow and perfect because it was Izo. His hands slid through the endless black of the other man’s hair as one of Izo’s hands explored his chest, clutching at him as their actions only intensified. Hesitant as they both were, this kiss and those that followed let them know how they felt about each other where words had failed them. 

 

  “Thatch,” Izo said as they parted, drunk on both wine and affection. “If we don’t stop…”

 

 “I know. I know,” Thatch said, dazed. “We should...We should try and go get some rest. We’re going to be docking today, afterall.” 

 

  Izo nodded his head, releasing Thatch’s hand with hesitation written clear in his eyes. “Agreed,” he said, moving to stand. “I’ll see you later then…”

 

  “Of course. I’ll be sure to add more blueberries to your parfait,” Thatch said as he made to stand as well, shoving both of his hands into his pockets to restrain himself from reaching for the other man once more. 

  
  


  Izo threw him a warm and rather radiant smile over his shoulder before he disappeared from sight altogether. Thatch sighed to himself, his lips tingling still from the world shattering kiss they had shared, and it only confirmed what he had always suspected—he would never be able to give the other man up, no matter what they labeled themselves, for the rest of his life. There would be no sleep for him that night, but unlike the many restless nights he had endured before, he would not mind this one. 

 

* * *

 

  
  


  “Welcome to the Oneiric Islands. This kingdom was founded upon the visions of great and daring men who weren’t afraid to act upon their desires—making their wildest dreams come true. We welcome you, Whitebeard Pirates, with open arms. Feel free to move around as though you were any of our fellow citizens.”

 

  Thatch found himself obtaining a crash course lesson on the Oneiric Islands and its history. The autumn air felt crisp and cool against his skin as they docked in a massive port made of limestone. The excitement he felt dimed at the almost sleepy quality of the residents, even for someone like himself who hadn’t slept in almost seventy-two hours. Insomnia preyed upon him most fiercely, a dirty little secret of his he had kept for more than half of his life. Thatch expected to fall asleep that night, he needed to or else everything he was in charge of would begin to suffer for it, but the closer they grew to the castle, the more strange and almost twilight everything seemed to appear. 

 

  “This is weird,” he said, voice low as he turned to look at Marco who came across quite serene considering how important meeting the royal family was to be. “Marco, you in there?”

 

  “What’s wrong, Thatch? Isn’t the weather a wonderful change?” he asked, calm and collected as sleepy eyes turned upward to study him with a dream-like state to them. Marco had never called anything “wonderful” in his life.  

 

  “Nothing.”

 

  Thatch held his tongue, afraid that saying anything further would compromise their stay here. If they were in trouble, he did not want to sound the alarm before they were able to get away safely and with the supplies they needed in large quantities, including Pops’ medication. It didn’t matter how strange things were, or what dangers might lie ahead—ensuring Pops’ wellbeing and survival would always be imperative.

 

  “We shall be convening on Old King’s Court in a moment where the royal family shall greet you. Lord DePasquale looks forward to your presence,” Webb, their escort, said. The elderly man sat plump upon his carriage seat, hands fastened to the reigns of two great and towering clydesdales who drew them along at a steady pace, their hooves clacking against cobblestone. Normally, Thatch would find the sound soothing, but it only served to make everything that much more unsettling.    

 

  Thatch worked hard to control himself, but he found the task of appearing subdued rather difficult, even the monarch of this country appeared off. He studied the faces of his fellow brothers, looking for any hint as to what had ensnared them so, but fell short of his mark. All he could discern between the lot of them was the tranquility they radiated out from within, closed off from their physical surroundings. Thatch felt alone and slightly breathless—he didn’t know how to pull something of this magnitude off by himself. A slight glance his way, and Thatch realized he wasn’t as alone as he initially thought. 

 

The kid was with it, and just as confused as he, himself, was.

 

  The DePasquale family had a long-winding history as the first family to settle upon the island. King Marroquin inherited the throne from his mother at the tender age of twelve when she fell in battle—a deep reaching rift between the Oneiric Islands and their neighbor, The Wakeful Island, to the southeast who gunned for their natural resources. A series of three island stitched together from natural limestone, emerald and onyx. 

 

  The fact there was an active volcano or two around here somewhere didn’t help the sinking feeling that sat low within Thatch’s gut, contorting his insides.

 

  “Welcome, dear Whitebeard and company! We meet at last, my friend,” he said, arms open and wide as a smile graced thin lips, but the mirth he expressed did not quite reach such deep seated eyes. “This is my wife and Queen, Florena; my eldest child and Crown Prince, Micah, and my youngest, Princess Meadow. Also residing within my household is my sister’s son, Prince Marion.” 

 

  Save the Queen, all of the DePasquale family were adorned with hair as dark as the onyx their lands produced. She stood out amongst them with hair the color of summer strawberries that spun its way down her backside in soft spirals, a long wooden staff kept her upright and on her feet. Thatch pondered as to whether or not the lameness was due to birth or to war for even their King was adorned with a long reaching scar that stretched from his right temple to the corner of his mouth on the opposite side of his face. Unlike their father, both children inherited their mother’s dazzling green eyes. A healthy mixture of both yin and yang. 

 

  The nephew, on the other hand, had piercing blue eyes one shade darker than a sheet of ice, and though his face appeared long and gaunt, he looked on at their presence with a vivacious smile to his face punctuated by the dimple sat within the center of his chin. Thatch felt it again, that twisting sensation in his gut when their eyes met for only a brief moment. The nephew, Marion, it was him—it had to be. When those eyes turned their attention to Izo, Thatch’s heart stopped—he knew immediately the familiar look of attraction that graced his unsettling gaze. If Thatch could, he would have lunged for the man just then, but a hard glance from Ace reminded him to reign himself in. 

 

  He needed to remain calm, even though everything inside him screamed otherwise. 

 

  “We’re happy to be amongst friends,” Whitebeard said at long last, his voice booming as he took a step forward, towering over the King by at least two feet. 

 

  A large feast was being prepared in their honor. The DePasquale estate stood massive at two stories high—three if you counted the breathtaking belltower centered above. Thatch fell behind everyone else as they moved forward towards the palace entrance. Ace met his pace, keeping his head held low, but Thatch could tell that his gaze rested upon Marco’s back. It said something that even under the influence of some type of far reaching power that Marco remained ever by Whitebeard’s side. 

 

  Marco was in a lot of danger, and Ace knew it. 

 

  “What the hell do we do?” he asked, his voice a low, rather harsh whisper. The kid felt on edge, that much was clear by the slight trembling that permeated down his slumped shoulders. 

 

  “I’m trying to understand why, out of everyone on this island, the only two not affected are you and me,” Thatch said, looking to and fro as they were greeted by every servant they came across. “I swear it has to do with the King’s nephew, though.”

 

  “You felt it, too, huh?”

 

  “Yeah, he’s super off putting.” 

 

  “What type of ability do you think he has? He’s obviously a Devil Fruit user,” Ace said, fists clenched down by his sides. 

 

  “Something to do with sleep...or dreams, or something like that. It’s like everyone’s in their own world even though they’re moving around as normal.”

 

  “It’s a trap. The whole thing.”

 

  “Definitely.”

 

  “These people have suffered enough...they don’t deserve to be manipulated on top of everything else,” Ace said, his face hard and closed off. He had made up his mind. 

 

  “We need to take him out.”

 

  “Yeah.”

 

  “The only problem is his ability to control others. They’re turned off at the moment, but what if he decides to use them to attack us?”

 

  “Then we’ve got to hit him hard and hit him fast. I’ve got a really bad feeling about this feast and what it means for Pops.”

 

  “You and me both.”       

 

 “Uncle, may I make a toast to our new guests?”

 

  Thatch flinched as he fought to sit still. The food looked both delicious and intriguing, but he could not focus upon it. His gaze rested upon Izo who sat opposite the same grand table that all Commanders took a seat around. 

 

  Izo’s gaze settled upon the King’s nephew, but the usual contempt that would have painted his face was nowhere to be found. Where was he in his mind? Did he think or dream about Thatch at all to look so serene? 

 

  “Of course, Marion. Save me the trouble, the last remnant of my beautiful sister and her husband,” King Marroquin said, and it pained Thatch at how much affection rested in his voice. He had lost much. 

 

  “I think it’s like a Dream-Dream Fruit or something,” Ace whispered, his head tilted to the side as he pressed his lips into a thin line. 

 

  “I think you’re right. The King appears as though he’s in a world where his family is still with him. Any idea what happened to the guy’s parents?”

 

 “Rumor has it that he was born on the island of Trance, middle island between this one and something called Daze, I think. His mother and father had a castle of their own until it burned down to the ground when he was thirteen or something close—barely a teenager.”

 

  “You think he killed his own parents?”

 

  “Considering the fact we’re pretty sure that he’s about to kill all of us, yeah, totally,” Ace said, taking a sip of his wine only after witnessing the others drink it with no apparent effect other than quenching their thirst. 

 

  “You think he casted some sort of dream spell so that they’d stay even as they burned alive without knowing it?”

 

  “The thought alone makes my blood boil. This guy’s a psychopath, and he has been for a really long time without anyone noticing because he can change their perception of things.”

 

  “It still leaves the question as to why we’re the only ones not affected.”

 

  Ace tilted his head just so, his nose scrunched up. “I have a theory, but it still wouldn’t explain your situation,” he said. “I mean, I suffer from narcolepsy...everyone knows that. I think, maybe, that’s why he can’t put me into a dream-like state since my sleep cycle isn’t like a normal person.”

 

  Thatch thought on that for a moment, it actually made perfect sense. “I, uh, barely sleep at all. I’m on about sixty-five hours without sleep at the moment currently.” 

 

“You’re an insomniac,” Ace said, eyebrows raised as he studied the other man. “You’ve got so much energy, though!”

 

  “I’ve got no choice,” he said, feeling weary by the thought alone. “I’ve got responsibilities to tend to, and I refuse to let a little thing like sleep control me.” 

 

  “That’s it, then. The narcoleptic and the insomniac finally get theirs,” he said, placing his hand over his mouth as he fought hard not to laugh out loud. 

 

  “Welcome all,” Marion said, raising his glass as everyone followed his lead. The idea that he would slaughter a teenage boy and a little girl no older than seven with orchids sewn throughout her hair made Thatch enraged. “I welcome you, and hope your meal was to your satisfaction for it shall be your last.”

 

  Thatch placed a tentative hand upon Ace’s knee in order to keep the kid seated. ‘Not yet,’ he thought, and Ace must have received the message as he gripped the edge of his seat, but didn’t otherwise act let alone burst into flames. 

 

  “After I claim the heads of all of you, your fleet shall accommodate me to war. My dearest uncle, you’ve taken such good care of me over these last thirteen years after the tragic, tragic death of my loving parents. I’m afraid, however, to inform you of your many failings as a King. You wish for peace when you should be focused on their utter destruction,” he said, placing a hand upon Marroquin’s shoulder as he brandished a large blade. Thatch’s stomach churned at the sight. “As strong as you all are, I doubt my ability to control you would hold for much longer, thus the first to die happily amongst you shall  _ tragically  _ be the Phoenix.”

 

  Marion grabbed Marco by the shoulder, placing the sharpest point of his dagger against the zoan’s throat, drawing a faint trail of blood. Thatch didn’t know what would befall them, but it was now or never. Like hell they would let their brother so easily die here. 

 

  Ace lost it, his entire body became engulfed in flames as he let out a loud scream that penetrated the room by the sheer amount of pain and anger it carried. “Marco!” he shouted, reaching over the table even though he knew the other was too far away to reach in one go.

 

  “Damn it, Ace!” Thatch shouted, reaching for a steak knife as he gunned for the wayward Prince. What a terrible weapon! 

 

  “What the hell’s going on?” Marco questioned, coming to as he clutched the side of his head with one of his hands, an instinctive blue flame washing over his entire being as Marion reared back and away from his protective aura with a startled yelp. 

 

  “You want me, you’ll have to sacrifice him first,” Marion said, calm and piercing blue eyes shot through Thatch’s soul as he held onto the one person who mattered most. “Starting with his mind. Such a shame for someone as beautiful as him, truly. I had intended to take him as my prize.”

 

  “Don’t you dare, you coward!” Thatch hollered, but it was too late. Marion whispered something into Izo’s ear that sent him spiraling into a sobbing, screaming mess within a matter of seconds. His worst fears brought to life in his sedated mind.

 

  “We need to take him out!”

 

  “On it!” Ace shouted, following after the fleeing Prince who whispered words Thatch did not know and had never heard before. 

 

  “Haruta, stop! I don’t wish to hurt you!” Marco shouted, dodging one of their younger brothers attacks as he made to follow after Ace. 

 

  “Marco, go! I’ll handle them until his abilities are cut off! Follow Ace!”  

 

  Marco looked back at him, reluctance held in his eyes. “We’ll stop him,” he said. “I promise. We’ll get them all back.”

 

  Thatch pulled Izo into a corner, clutching at the man as he fought his hold. “He’s dead! You killed him! How...How could you!” he sobbed, his face welled up with anguish and utter despair. “Thatch...Thatch, please...wake up!”

 

Thatch startled at the other man's words. Izo found himself entangled in a nightmare about him, about his perceived death—his murder. “Izo, no. No, I’m right here. I’m with you. Alive.  _ Please _ , Izo,” he said.

 

  “You think you can kill Pops?!” Vista shouted as he lunged towards Thatch. Why of all days had he’d forgotten his damned sword, he chastised himself as he leapt back and away, having to let go of Izo’s shaking frame in the process. Oh, that’s right, he hadn’t slept in almost three days!

 

  Vista’s signature top hat fell from atop his head at the sheer force of his nonstop movements. If Thatch didn’t play this safe his head would be lopped off his shoulders in no time. Those swords of his were no joke.

 

  “Vista, stop that!” he yelped, desperate to knock some sense into everyone. “Curiel! Fossa! Come back! Don’t hurt Ace or Marco! They’re not as nice! They’ll hit you back! Or worse! Set you on fire!”

 

  “Thatch! Thatch!” Izo continued to sob, and it broke Thatch’s heart that he could do little to nothing about it.

 

  The royal family remained seated at first, as if they had been frozen solid, but then, after quite some time, the Queen’s head rose as those illuminating green eyes of hers lit up like a beacon. “Marion!” she screamed, clutching the side of her head as she studied the madness going on all around her. 

 

  Namur made to rush around the table to attack Thatch when she hit him in the side of of his head and then his gut with her walking staff. He fell back as she made to stand, kicking him with her right leg, haki armour coating the long limb. She may have been a Queen, but Florena did not hold back, her long dress flowing like dangerous waves as she fought for them and for her family.

 

  “I’m sorry, but this is for your own good,” she said as she put the fishman down. “This way you’ll have no regrets when you come to.”

 

  Thatch stared at her in awe, no doubts lingering in his head as to her status. Atmos gunned for him just then, swords drawn and chopping through the air with devastating blows. Thatch dropped the steak knife held in his hand in favor of grabbing the massive man by his long beard and slamming him into the wall behind him. 

 

  He would apologize afterwards for kicking him in both the chest as well as his face. Marco and Ace needed to hurry if they were all going to survive this. Marroquin startled awake next, hand held to his forehead as a low, painful growl escaped his throat. The first thing he did was to lift his children in either arm and escape into one of the corridors adjacent from him before coming back into the thick of things knowing that they were both out of harm's way.

 

  “My mother...my sister and her...my best, most loyal friend,” he said, a haki clad fist and forearm striking Jozu in the face. 

 

  “I’m sorry, my love,” Florena said, fending off a rapid attack by Rakyo with her long reaching staff. 

 

  “I will kill him with my own two hands!” The King roared, and the entire room shook with the sheer force behind every syllable. Conqueror’s haki, Thatch realized. This whole family was dangerous, it would appeared. 

 

  “Go! We’ll take care of this!” she shouted, and Thatch thought her insane for such an assumption. The last one seated was Whitebeard himself, and Thatch did not want to see what would happen if the Old Man stirred in this state. 

 

  The thought fled his mind when Atmos reached up and bit him, his two most prominent teeth sinking into his forearm through his freshly pressed uniform. Honestly, it ticked him off as he kicked him back. His eyes darted back to where he had left Izo, his slender frame pressed back against the wall, knees pressed into his chest as he rocked himself back and forth. Thatch raced over to him despite his better judgement, dodging attack after attack in the process. Izo  _ needed  _ him, goddamnit. 

 

  “Come on, Izo! I need you to pull out of this! I’m right here. I’m right here with you,” Thatch said, placing a hand upon either of Izo’s cheeks, made wet by the tears that streamed down the other man’s face in rivets. 

 

  “Betrayed...You betrayed us! Show your face!” Izo shouted, reaching for one of his guns as Thatch was forced to pin his arms down by his sides. 

 

  “It’s just a dream, Izo. Please. It’s just a dream,” he said, stroking the other man’s hair that had spiraled out of its decorative bun. “I’m sorry you’re so tortured by this. I’m sorry, but I’m right here. Ace and Marco are here, too. They’ll stop this.” 

 

  Minutes felt like hours trapped within that inordinate dining hall, and never had Thatch felt as helpless as he did then, witness to his brothers greatest suffering. A power such as this one did not belong in such inhumane and careless hands, and it left a bitter taste in his mouth. Thatch cared little about obtaining and consuming a Devil Fruit even on the best of days, but on days such as this one, he outright detested the practice. It wasn’t a fair assessment, he knew. Plenty among their crew including Whitebeard himself were Devil Fruit users, and the finest men he’d ever come across.

 

  Desperation was simply beginning to get the best of him.  

 

  And just like that, the storm was over. The hold held over his brethren dissipated, if but slowly—like waking from the most realistic of dreams they’d ever had. Vista moved first, not bothering to reclaim his hat as he pulled Pops into a vice-like grip, clinging to him. “I was so sure they killed you and there was nothing I could do about it,” he cried, holding onto the only father figure he had ever known as the Old Man patted the top of his head, ruffling his hair.   

 

  Izo came to as well, but it took much longer than the others, his darks eyes even darker as they blinked rapidly, settling on Thatch’s face. He began to cry at the sight of him, his arms wrapped around Thatch’s neck like an albatross for the man he couldn’t save. The larger of the two decided then that some privacy was in order as he  helped to guide Izo up and to his feet. The two traversed down the longest corridor Thatch had ever seen, noticing one servant after another laid out on the floor as they woke slowly. Thatch pulled Izo into a smaller room than the dining hall, but no less grand; a study or library of some sort. 

 

  Thatch sat on the floor against a hightowering bookcase as Izo’s feet could take him no further. He held the other man in his arms as Izo sat in his massive lap, wiping his tears away as they continued to fall. “It was so real, Thatch,” he said at last, and then he said something Thatch did not expect. “I lied before. I don’t like you, you idiot, I love you.” 

 

  “I love you, too,” Thatch said, emotions threatening to burst out from within. “I love you so much even though you’re so cruel. Maybe I’m a masochist, I don’t know, but I don’t care.”

 

  Izo chuckled a little, and that could only be a good thing in Thatch’s eyes, but he looked as worn down as he did worn out, and if Thatch knew where that Prince was located, he’d give him and extra kick or five for good measure—whether or not the guy laid dead. Izo kissed him then, and all thoughts of revenge reverted to the recesses of his mind as he could only focus on ruby red lips and how perfect they felt pressed against his. A hand crept up along Izo’s thigh under his white and black kimono as Thatch could not get enough of him, glad to have the other man back after so much chaos. 

 

  A booming fit of laughter flooded their ears as well as their senses, and the two broke apart out of sheer surprise and sudden terror. Pops loomed just outside the door to the study, peering in. Thatch gulped long and hard as he fought not to push Izo off of his lap in a fit of modesty, but held his ground nonetheless. 

 

  “Pops…” he said, startled. 

 

  “Some of my children were unaccounted for so I took off to find you all,” he said, twisting one end of his trademark mustache as he did so. “I always suspected there was something there. I’m glad to see you happy, my sons.”

 

  “Don’t say it like that!” Thatch hollered, slapping a hand to the side of his face as embarrassment washed over him in waves. 

 

  Whitebeard only laughed again before turning away, his loud footsteps echoing down the hall. Thatch turned his attention back to the man situated in his lap, it was a comfortable feeling he did not want to give up, but this was not the appropriate time. “Hey, we should probably go see if Marco and Ace are still alive, huh?” he asked, and Izo gave him a brief nod in turn. 

 

  Izo held onto his forearm as they walked on and on, stopping only to ask for directions along the way. As it turned out, they did not have long to go after the third twist or turn. Marco had Ace pressed against a high praying window as the two kissed with much force and desperation held behind every touch, only parting for a breath of commingled air and a dirty word or two on Marco’s part that set Ace’s face aflame with a mixture of both arousal and maybe shame, though Thatch wasn’t certain, and he didn’t want to be. 

 

  “At least we’re not as offensive as they are,” Izo said, snorting as the two of them turned on their heels to give their fellow crew members some privacy, not that they probably cared. 

 

  “Yeah, we at least found a room before I started groping you. They’re just going at it out in the open for any of these poor people to see!”

 

  “Exhibitionists,” Izo said with a dry sort of cackle. 

  “Would you like to accompany me on my venture for supplies? I’m very,  _ very  _ far behind schedule,” Thatch said, refusing to add that he was also still afraid to let the smaller of two out of his sight. Izo still appeared to be haunted by what he had witnessed. 

 

  “Are you asking for my help?” Izo questioned, shooting him a dazzling grin in turn. 

 

  “...Maybe.”

 

  “Show me the way, then!”

 

  Thatch rubbed a large hand over the back of his neck. “I, uh, don’t really know the way,” he said as Izo laughed at him. Cruel.

 

  Their shopping excursion didn’t last as long as Thatch had intended it to. Sure, they had found their way over to a massive market filled with both familiar as well as exotic foods made available to them by the affable and easy going locals, but it was hard to miss the sense of malaise that shrouded Izo even as the other man pretended otherwise. When Izo made to greet the next vendor, Thatch placed a soothing, but firm, hand upon a slumping shoulder. 

 

  “Hey,” he said, smiling at the other man who raised a single, perfect brow in his wake. “We’ve been through a lot today. How about we call it quits, and I make a light dinner for us?”

 

  Izo frowned, his eyes peering down and to the side as he thought for a moment. “Is it that noticeable?” he asked at last. “That I’m...That I’m not okay?”

 

“I doubt any of us are okay right now. I know I’m not, and I wasn’t even affected,” he said, trying his best to reassure Izo that it was more than alright to not be okay after something like that. 

 

  “I feel so weak...how am I supposed to look at the men I lead after something like this? I’m still trembling like a coward, even though it’s over!”

 

  “He was the coward! And don’t you dare forget that,” Thatch said, tilting Izo’s chin up so that their eyes were forced to meet. “He couldn’t kill his own family by strength alone, and so he preyed upon their minds, and every mind that might have intervened. He couldn’t handle Ace’s flames, and died at the King’s hands just as promised. He can’t hurt anyone anymore, but it doesn’t change what he did to you all. Don’t try to act like it didn’t happen, Izo, because that will only hurt you in the end.”

 

  “I want to go back to the ship,” Izo whispered after a moment, biting his lip. 

 

  Thatch prepared a flavorful tonjiru for them as the sun began to set,  pork having dominated much of the local cuisine upon the island—they had even witnessed a few pigs roaming through town and in stores as well as the countryside. They were highly revered here, and the people of the Oneiric Islands believed in using every part of them in some form or fashion. Thatch wished to learn more, but that would have to be saved for another day. 

 

  “Something to remind you of home,” he said, setting a hot bowl down in front of Izo who looked up at him gratefully. 

 

  “Thank you,” he said before consuming the soup with gusto. It made Thatch more than a little proud, though he would not say so. 

 

  Maybe it was the way Izo thanked him, with soft lips and even softer eyes, but he couldn’t resist the urge to kiss him again. And the way Izo met him head on stole his breath away as deadly hands yanked at his yellow foulard, bringing him closer. Izo needed him, and he needed Izo—want be damned. 

 

     “I promise I’m right here,” Thatch whispered, lips pressed close to the shell of Izo’s ear.

 

  Izo shuddered at his words, hands gripping each of Thatch’s biceps as he brought the other man even closer. A lone tear slid down a painted cheek, and Thatch hated the sight of it. Izo had cried enough for a lifetime. 

 

  “Could you hear me?” he asked, curiosity getting the best of him.

 

  “I could hear something,” Izo said, words rushed and choked out as he tried to force the pain he felt back down and as far away from conscious thought as possible. “But I was so lost in my shock and my grief and my absolute torment to truly hear them.”

 

  “I’m so sorry, Izo.”

 

  “I’m inviting you back to my quarters, Thatch. Please, please don’t refuse me.”

 

  “I could never refuse you. You know that.” And he never could. 

  
  
  


  Izo’s quarters were just as neat as his own, but also much more intricate and decorative. His bed alone stood as a temple dedicated to the finest of silk, threading made out of real gold. The material painted over his bare skin with cool brushes here or there, but Thatch found himself moving this way and that as he and Izo gave and received the most heated of touches. Izo’s lips trailed from his jawline down to the side of his neck, leaving a mark everywhere they traversed. 

 

  “I love you,” Izo whispered between every kiss and bite he layered over Thatch’s chest as though he would forget otherwise...as though Thatch wouldn’t know without his insistence. 

 

  “I’m right here,” Thatch said, words muttered as his head threw itself back without his consent. Izo continued to move southward, leaving feathery kisses behind as he did so. Thatch found it hard to catch his breath as Izo’s hands rubbed soothing circles against the thickest portion of his thighs and buttocks. 

 

  “You ready?”

 

  “For—”

 

  Thatch’s words died out as Izo’s tongue trailed along the underside of his cock, one hand cupping his balls as he carried on. Izo gave head as though it were a sacred experience, but his mouth was far too occupied for any semblance of prayer. His lipstick never smeared nor did his eyeliner ever run, even as he welcomed Thatch’s full length in between full lips, throat constricting only once before relaxing around his girth, and Thatch couldn’t help but feel blessed by some cosmic power. 

 

  “Oh, fuck,” he groaned, biting down on his own hand to keep from shouting to the heavens above. One of the downsides to living on such a large ship with so many other people, even if most of them were still on shore. 

 

  Izo merely smirked at his plight as his head continued to bob up and down at a varying pace, tongue dragging along the head of his cock. Thatch wouldn’t last long like this—it had been too long and Izo was too intoxicating. Izo must have read the silent plea hitched in his throat. 

 

  “How else shall I please you?” he questioned, straddling Thatch’s waist with a devious smirk. 

 

  Thatch found himself hypnotized by the long expanse of pale skin now on display before him. His hand reached instinctively for Izo’s bared clavicle, long had he desired to caress that exact same spot hundreds, if not thousands of times prior. Izo moved Thatch’s hand down over his heart, lacing their fingers together. Thatch could only think about where their future together would lead them, but then, as he studied Izo’s flushed cheeks and half-lidded eyes he knew he need only embrace the present. 

 

  “I think it’s about time I pleased you,” he said, flipping Izo over in a sudden display of strength. 

 

  Izo huffed as though he were annoyed, but a smile graced his lips as he called Thatch a goon nonetheless. Where Izo had started up top, Thatch worked his way up from the bottom, placing tender kisses along the other man’s calves, focusing on the inside of his thighs as Izo pulled at his already disheveled hair, moans mixed with filthy curses his reward. Thatch desired to spend the remainder of his life committing every inch of Izo’s form to memory, his bottom teeth skimming along a protruding hip bone. 

 

  “Thatch, please!”  

 

  Thatch’s mouth lingered against the soft flesh, humming to himself as one one of his hands crept up along Izo’s opposing thigh to then take his cock in hand, precome making the slow, deliberate movements of his skilled fingers silky smooth. Izo gasped as his hips gave a short thrust, halted by Thatch’s weight alone as he toyed with the smaller man. Thatch would never be satisfied with receiving but not giving, even though Izo had given him a hell of a lot. 

 

  “What else should I do to you to hear all of those magnificent cries of yours?” he inquired, lips still planted firmly against Izo’s hip. 

 

  “You can start by fucking me already!” Izo growled, his already thin patience having unraveled entirely.

 

  “Mmm, but I like playing with you.”

 

  “Thatch, I’ll kill you!” he yelled, but tensed after the words finished leaving his mouth. 

 

  The dream. The absolute nightmare he had endured. Fuck. 

 

  “Izo, no. No, don’t go back there. Look at me. Feel me,” he said, moving up Izo’s body as he did so. “I’m right here. I’m with you, and I always will be, even if we’re physically apart. You’ll always have me, Izo, and I’ll always have you.” 

 

  Izo didn’t cry, but his eyes were devoid of all light, and the look starved Thatch’s entire body of all fight. Izo loved him, but he was also afraid of losing him. All Thatch could do was reassure the other man of the present, of the now that existed here between them. If life was a stream made up of memories, than Thatch wanted Izo to have nothing but the most resounding ones with him to peer back at. 

 

  “I’m going to fill your head with nothing but the best of us, even when we fight—you’ll look back and smile because I promise, no matter what, we’ll always make up,” he said, fingers wet with a mixture of precome and oil from the tin they had set aside before going any further as he slid them down in between Izo’s thighs. “We can’t control the world around us, but we can control ourselves. I want to give you everything, Izo. I want to give you my all.” 

 

  “You’re such a sap,” Izo mewled, back arching as Thatch worked his middle finger steadily inside him. “A romantic school girl.”

 

  “...And?” Thatch asked, a lopsided grin settling over his features as Izo’s hips ground up to meet his slow, torturous rhythm. 

 

  “And I—And I, uh, look forward to making you eat every sappy word.”

 

  Three fingers in, and Thatch could have happily came watching Izo as it were, but the smaller of the two had other plans for them, nails digging into Thatch’s shoulder blades as he pleaded for him to get a move on. “Thatch, yes. Now.”

 

  Thatch fisted his cock a couple of times as he prepared to take Izo’s body for the first time. The sight of the man displayed underneath him made a shiver ripple down his spine—those red lips and too soft, too pale flesh finally his to claim. “Fuck, Izo. You’re perfect,” he said, holding his breath as he fought to center both his attention and excitement. 

 

  Izo’s lips curled to one side, one of his hands caressing the side of Thatch’s neck as he wrapped those beautiful thighs around the middle of the larger man’s waist, bringing the two of them closer together. Thatch lined himself up with Izo’s relaxed entrance, taking his time as he pressed his hips forward at a slow, persistent pace. The heat that entrapped him felt as inexplicable as it did overpowering, a series of heavy pants transforming into a breathless maelstrom of curses.

 

  “Thatch, move, or so help me,” Izo warned, his voice shifting into a series of harsh moans as Thatch bottomed out, taking in the view as the other man’s chest blossomed into the most astonishing series of flushes. 

 

  Secure, Thatch placed one hand upon Izo’s outer thigh, the other hoisting an opulent leg up and over his shoulder. Izo’s tongue tailed along his bottom lip, and Thatch felt compelled to watch, study and admit even the most minute of details to memory. He wanted to recall every detail, now and forever. The sounds that poured forth from that perfect, contentious mouth of his made the long wait worthwhile as Thatch pulled out only to slam right back inside him with a resounding slap. Izo released a startled cry in response, one of his heels digging into the small of Thatch’s back as the larger man set a brutal pace, rocking into Izo’s body with his full weight behind him, knees digging into the soft mattress beneath. 

 

  “Finally!” Izo cried out, fisting the sheets above his head as Thatch continued to fuck him nice and hard and slow. His cock resiled in between their sweat soaked bodies, hard, flushed and continuing to exude a substantial amount of precome. The chef wanted nothing more than to see what the other man’s face resembled when unfolding underneath his touch.

 

  “Izo, fuck,” he said, voice hitched in the back of his throat as he fought not to drown in all of his senses at once. “Wanna see...I wanna see what you look like when I make you come. Wanna know what it feels like to have you clench down around my cock as you spill your seed in between us and all over my hand.”

 

  Izo let out a low whine in spite of himself, face flushed as he labored just to breathe, turned on by the absolute filth emanating from Thatch’s unrestrained thoughts. Thatch focused all of his attention on making the other man’s orgasm as explosive as possible. Izo, having caught onto his intentions, brought Thatch down for a frenzied kiss—robbing them both of breath as Thatch began to pump the marksman’s cock in unison to the merciless, unrepentant jettison of his hips. 

 

  “ _ Close _ ,” he moaned, his hands sliding all over Thatch’s back, shoulders and arms as he sought for any sort of purchase, “So close.” 

 

  The heat began to build near intolerable levels, each thrust a testament to an ironclad will that refused to surrender. Izo needed this, he needed this, and Thatch was determined to see them both through it. Their kisses fell just short of sloppy towards the end, Thatch having to settle on placing chaste kisses along Izo’s cheeks and throat as Izo’s hips rocked up to meet Thatch’s well angled thrusts. Izo jerked and gasped as Thatch hit his prostate headon, mouth agape as he did it again, drowning in the sounds the smaller man made as his body tried to twist and turn  underneath him. Thatch leaned down, taking one of Izo’s hardened nipples in between his teeth, keen on balancing the ratio of pain and pleasure playing havoc on the other man’s body. 

 

  “Thatch, you barbaric—!” he started then stopped, his head thrown back as he placed a pillow over his face; a harsh, muffled cry emitting from his mouth as his thighs began to tremble in earnest. Close, so close. 

 

  Thatch removed the opposing fabric, intent on watching the other man come undone from start to finish. “I want to see what you look like when you come,” he said, mouth pressed against the side of Izo’s neck just before he sunk his teeth into the delicate flesh. 

 

  Izo contracted down around him, burying Thatch as far into his body as humanly possible, his stomach tensing as he came long and hard in between them. Thatch continued to pound into the compressed heat Izo’s ass had to offer, restraint slipping now that the other man’s needs had been met. Izo recited his name like the sweetest of mantras, nails digging into his upper back as Thatch found himself close to the precipice of his own impending climax. 

 

  “Fuck, Izo, I  _ love  _ you,” he groaned, balls tightening up as his orgasm took hold over him, shaking him to the core as his hips stuttered and then stalled, lungs starved for breath. 

 

  “We’re absolutely filthy,” Izo said, dilated pupils peering into his as their mouths met in a slow, searing kiss. Thatch could happily have kissed him for all of eternity. If there was an afterlife to be had, he poured all of his hopes and his dreams into the belief that Izo would be his final resting place.  

 

  Thatch gave a low chuckle as he slid a thumb along one of Izo’s perfectly sculpted cheekbones. “You love it,” he said, smiling when Izo’s face shimmered with a faint blush. 

 

  “Absolutely,” he said, sighing softly as Thatch pulled out, settling down onto the bed beside him.

 

  The two were in desperate need of cleaning up, but Thatch determined it would have to wait until he regained full sensation in both his legs before making such an attempt. Besides, post coital bliss suited Izo far better than it had any right to, and Thatch wanted the chance to study and touch him for a little while uninterrupted. Izo rolled onto his side, placing one of his legs up and over Thatch’s hip, bringing the chef closer to him as he pressed a soft kiss to the inside of Thatch’s wrist. Thatch could feel the overwhelming urge to rest beginning to sink its claws into him, but he fought it off as long possible, determined to make sure Izo felt free of any lingering doubts or fears. Izo bit his lip as their eyes met, and Thatch knew there was something the other man must have wanted to say to him. 

 

  “What?” he asked after a moment or two of waiting, running the palm of his hand up along Izo’s thigh before settling back over his hip. 

 

  “Did you mean?” he questioned after a long pause, as though the hardest feat in the world in that moment was to speak. “About this? About...us? That no matter what, you want to see this through?”

 

  Thatch placed a soft kiss to the corner of Izo’s mouth, willing away his fear as well as any lasting uncertainty. “Yes,” he said as their noses brushed together just so. “Izo, I fell in love with you the moment we met, and now that I get to have you, I don’t want to let you out of my sight.”

 

  “I don’t want to lose you,” Izo said, voice a mere murmur uttered against Thatch’s lips. “If you were to die than I’d lose my life as well. I know it was nightmare, Thatch, but it didn’t make the pain any less real. I want us...I want to hold onto you for as long as possible, and I know that’s selfish, but I’m a selfish, greedy person.”

 

  “You’re possessive,” Thatch said, grinning from ear to ear as he silenced the other man with a pressing of lips on lips, teasing the seam of his mouth with the tip of his tongue. “But I swear, Izo, not even death itself could separate me from you. I’ll always right where you keep me.”

 

  “And if I were to die before you?” he asked, and Thatch could feel his heart drop into the pit of his stomach at the thought of the other man dying before him. It wouldn’t happen. “Where would you keep me?”

 

  “The same place you keep me, ‘Zo. I see you whenever I close my eyes, and sometimes, if I focus long enough on you, on your voice, your scent, the way your hair feels beneath my fingertips—I’m able to drift off, no matter how restless I might be. You’re the closest thing to a good night’s rest I ever have.”

 

  “My poor, Thatch,” Izo said as he cupped the other man’s cheek, his thumb trailing along the prominent scar to the side of his face. “Are you feeling at least somewhat tired now?”

 

Thatch gave a short nod. “Mhm, I am,” he said, never bothering to lie to the man he so cared about. “I wanted to make sure you were okay before I rudely fell asleep.”

 

  “Don’t be stupid,” Izo chastised, but no real malice lingered in his words as he pressed yet another short kiss to Thatch’s mouth, and the action left the chef feeling warm and at ease. “Close your eyes, and get some rest. I’ll be here still when you wake.”

 

  “I would sure hope so,” Thatch said, his eyes feeling weighted with the desire to sleep. “I wanna chance for another round or two or four.”

 

  “You brute,” Izo said, his laughter filling Thatch’s ears and the empty, dark spaces behind his closed eyelids. Thatch could feel himself spiraling down into the realm of slumber faster than he ever had before in his life. Izo’s warmth, the sound of his voice, the sensation of his nails scratching against his facial hair worked better than any drink or drug that claimed to help those like himself to fall asleep.

 

  “G’night, ‘Zo.”

 

  “Good night, Thatch, nothing but sweet dreams in that thick skull of yours.” 

 

  “Anything for you.”                 

  
  



End file.
